


Perspiration

by skies_of_blue



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-22
Updated: 2005-10-22
Packaged: 2018-10-27 17:33:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10813590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skies_of_blue/pseuds/skies_of_blue
Summary: Ron and Hermione find it to be a little too hot outside to watch Harry's Quidditch practice and find something to distract themselves.Companion Art work





	Perspiration

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

Crisp cotton sundress scratching at her thighs. Sun pounding down at their flesh, a hammer of heat and steam. Three drops of moisture trickling over his neck and pooling slightly at the hollow of his throat.

 

Sweat should be uncomfortable.

 

Grimy.

 

Unsexy. 

 

But bugger it all, those weren't exactly the definitions sifting through her mind when Ron slid long fingers over the sweat beaded on his forehead to swipe his fringe back. He squinted into the sunlight before puffing out a breath that quivered through the remaining strands of flaming red hair dangling across his eyes. 

 

"I reckon this wasn't the best day to watch Harry's practice," he grumbled, his voice barely audible over the Chasers barking orders at each other across the pitch. He leaned back against the bench behind him and kicked up his legs onto the lower tier. 

 

Hermione hummed an agreement and squelched down a conjured image of the nest her own hair must have resembled in this stifling heat. "I can't see much of what's going on out there anyway." She tilted her chin toward a far-off blur of navy robes, the Quaffle barely visible through the haze at this height, let alone the Bludgers or Snitch. She'd tried keeping one eye alert on watching Harry's movements, but the glare was nearly overwhelming.

 

Ron was fidgeting next to her. His attention seemed to be on the distant players as he absently chewed on his thumbnail. She glimpsed a flash of pink tongue and smiled to herself. She was well acquainted with feats that tongue could perform.

 

"I recognized several drills discussed in Quiddtich Moves of the Champions, but I don't quite know what they're supposed to be doing out there now," Hermione finally said to distract herself from gawking at the sheen of sweat that glistened at the flex of Ron's bicep. 

 

His eyes darted to meet hers and he grinned like a naughty school boy, one eyebrow upraised. He straddled the bench and scooted closer to her so that she was tucked between the angle his spread legs made. One knee knocked slightly at hers and the other pressed against her tail bone.

 

"Well, I can teach you, for a change," he said softly. A mischievous smile quirked his lips and he trailed his index finger over her kneecap. 

 

"Oh really?" Hermione answered, her voice sounding a bit husky in her ears. She let her thighs fall apart in a barely noticeable movement. The dress fabric dipped between her legs when she shifted position. 

 

"Mmmhmmm." He traced several shapes on her lower thigh with a light touch. The pad of his fingertip was shockingly hot, even against her sweat-glazed skin. "What they've been repeating all day is the brand new, 'Butterfield Combination'," he whispered. His breath was close to her ear; she could sense a puff of heat against the shell. 

 

She leaned imperceptibly against the knee at her back, causing her dress to creep up her legs and expose the pale skin of her upper thigh. A stray thought reminded her that the cotton would wrinkle easily in this humidity, but most her concentration was occupied with the way Ron's fingertips traced geometric patterns along the flesh beneath her dress hem, while he spoke soft words of strategy that didn't quite keep her attention.

 

"So… they're experimenting?" Hermione swallowed and winced at how her words broke mid-sentence when Ron's occupied hand crept closer to the apex of her thighs. Her own fingers grasped tighter at the bench, her nails sinking into the dilapidated wood.

 

Ron reached behind her and rested his free forearm against the dip where her spine curved. "Practicing," he answered quietly, his lips still very close to her ear but not making contact. His arm felt firm against the damp cotton that bunched at the small of her back. She pressed into the secure grip a hairsbreadth more, sucking her lower lip between her teeth when his fingertips pressed into her hip. His opposite hand was still busily sketching out patterns against her skin. 

 

Hermione scanned the air above the pitch and pinpointed the current location of the Quidditch team. Ah. Way over by the goalposts, dousing themselves with water to cool off.

 

How convenient. 

 

"Practicing?" she repeated after Ron had trailed off in his narration. She licked at her lips and tasted salty sweat between quickening breaths. Ron's fingers inched across her skin in an excruciatingly slow tease, only to pause when they brushed against the scrap of elastic on her knickers.

 

 

"Practicing," he said in a breathy whisper that scorched against her neck . "The same movements over and over again." Hermione shivered when he smoothed his lips beneath her earlobe and trailed them up to speak against her ear. She could nearly feel him smile when he added, "You know how important it is to revise." 

 

Her temptation to roll her eyes dissolved when he slid his finger over the thin, damp cotton of her knickers, light enough to be tantalizing and frustrating at the same time. One very slow path, with just enough pressure to elicit the tiniest of moans that escaped in her exhale. Hermione squirmed against the bench and stole another glance in to the sky; the Beaters seemed to have drifted a little closer as they concentrated on their drills. It was a jolting reminder of how very public they were outside in the Quidditch stands. 

 

Rather than letting herself worry over getting caught, Hermione let her mind linger on the sensations, her entire body relaxing slightly. Ron was still gently sweeping his thumb, teasing her with each stroke. There was a pattern to his movements…what was that, did he just draw…? "Ron Weasley," she hissed. Her focus snapped back to meet his gaze, even as she allowed her legs to part a bit more. "Did you just…? Are you…?" Hermione's words drifted off as she fought off the fury of blushing.

 

Ron's grin was closer to smug than she'd ever witnessed. His response was only to cock an eyebrow again and use his thumb to flick at her clit through the material of her knickers. Hermione had to lick at her dry lips before trying to speak.

 

"Are you drawing Quidditch goal hoops on my…" she said in a rush. This time, the trickle of sweat that tickled at her temple had nothing to do with the heat. 

 

His laugh rumbled in his chest, but to Hermione's dismay, his fingers stilled and he slid his hand back toward her kneecap. She must have allowed a disappointed sound to slip out because he chuckled again. "Now Hermione, what kind of teacher would I be if I didn't give you a quiz?" He pushed up from the bench and stretched. "Oi, I'm baking out here! You'd think a professional Quidditch stadium would allow a measly cooling charm through their wards against magical interference!" When he rolled his shoulders to presumably get the kinks out, Hermione spared one glance to watch how his t-shirt fit tight against his sweaty skin before checking the status of the Quidditch players again. Harry must have just passed by in his search for the snitch; she caught sight of his Seeker robes fluttering not too far off as he looped in the air.

 

Oh my, what if he'd seen her brazenly letting Ron's hand creep up her sundress? Hermione looked back towards Ron. He was grinning again, with that wicked sparkle in his eye that she'd started to associate with, "About-to-say-something-that'll-get-me-into-trouble-with-you."

 

"What?" Hermione snapped. Not only was she entirely too hot under this blazing sun, but now she also had an ache that wouldn't be satisfied until sometime later that evening because of Ron's teasing. 

 

"Aw, now love, don't get upset. I'll make it up to you, I promise." Ron dropped to his knees right in front of her. He barely fit in the aisle between benches, but Hermione forgot to ask after his comfort when he cupped her knees with warm palms and nudged her legs outwards. 

 

"What are you doing?" She tried to come off sounding scandalized. The words that reached her ears, unfortunately, sounded much to laced with interest and excitement. Ron just smiled gently at her in response. He leaned forward and caught her mouth up in a kiss that made her insides quiver. 

 

"Remember that little fantasy of yours we indulged in a few months ago?" Ron said when he'd pulled back so that their lips just brushed. 

 

"Mmmm?" Hermione tilted her head slightly to allow Ron to nip at the sensitive bit on her neck, grateful that he was gently lifting sweat-sticky curls out of the way.

 

"Quills, chocolate, your Hogwart's uniform…"

 

Hermione's pulse quickened. Oh. That fantasy. 

 

"I have a bit of a fantasy too," he continued in a low, husky voice, still pressing his lips to the slope of her neck in quick spurts between words. "We're at a match…the stands are crowded, everyone cheering and watching the pitch…" His hands slowly inched up her legs so that her dress gathered close to her belly. He lowered his head and hovered just above her right thigh. "Maybe it's raining. Maybe it's an awful, hot day like today. I slip to my knees between your legs, but no one notices how I duck my head under your robes. Your body gets all shaky when you realize what I'm about to do."

 

Well, Hermione was certainly trembling, that was for sure. The sight of Ron, damp hair plastered to his forehead, palms scorching a path across her inner thighs, ignited a spiraling ball of heat that lingered somewhere below her navel. Now he was urging her legs even further open. She supposed they should have ached at the position, but the pain didn't even register. Instead, she made a sweeping glance over the pitch, leaned back against the bench behind her, and arched up into his light touches. 

 

"Go on. And then what happens?" she breathed. Her eyes were screwed shut against the onslaught of afternoon sunlight, but she lifted her head slightly and squinted at Ron when he chuckled again.

 

"No, no, Hermione, I'm the teacher this time, remember? If you want me to continue, I need you to tell me what you've learned today about the Butterfield Combination." He hooked a finger under the elastic on her knickers while he said this and edged them down slowly, just to torment her.

 

Hermione propped herself with elbows firmly planted on the bench behind her, allowing Ron to remove the offending article of clothing. She felt the anticipation and excitement crash through her body in a way that she would've found embarrassing at one time. "You want me to talk about Quidditch while you do that out here for the entire team to see?"

 

After an eager nod, Ron's brow furrowed for a moment, and he peered up at her with bright eyes. "And Miss Granger, anytime I think that you're drifting off the subject, I'll stop right in the middle of whatever I'm doing."

 

She hummed a very distracted agreement while she scanned the air around them one last time to reassure herself that the players were busy at the opposite side.

 

"Oh! You can call me Professor Weasley while you're at it," he added before tucking his head down between her legs again and burying his nose in the newly exposed, moist curls there. 

 

Hermione's retort faded from her lips when Ron focused his energy on kissing his way up the sensitive skin at the top of her inner thigh until his tongue darted out over the mound of curls and fluttered at her heated center. With a resigned sigh, she allowed her eyes to drift shut.

 

"Hermione…" Ron spoke her name softly as a warning, one hand slipping up to press at her hip, but her body reacted by shivering in desire. Could she really do this so openly and chance getting caught, with an entire Quidditch team that could fly past at any moment?

 

She inhaled a shaky breath. "Yes…the…er…Chasers make a figure eight… in the sky," she paused and caught her tongue between her teeth when Ron's tongue flicked along intimate folds in a fevered, hungry movement. "Er yes, and …ahhh…they…oh! They purposely…purposely feign dropping the Quaffle," she added very fast. He let his teeth graze against her clit lightly, in a way that proved he obviously recalled what kinks would drive her insane with want. Her hands slipped into his hair, her fingers twisting into the sweat-soaked strands. Her sundress was likely a rumpled mess, damp from perspiration and humidity, but nothing mattered right now beyond what Ron was shamelessly doing between her legs. By this point, she was panting, her breath ragged, her body flushed. 

 

His mouth moved slickly over moist folds of skin, and his tongue teased before surprising her by pushing inside her tightness with a hot stroke. Hermione bucked up from the bench and groaned, all sense of location and responsibility forgotten. Oh my, she was so close… so close…

 

…and his tongue retreated. She could feel how his lips barely brushed at her curls; she wanted to push at his head, show him what she needed, she was so desperate for release, why wasn't he giving it?

 

"Ron, please!" she groaned as loud as she dared. 

 

"Uh uh, Quidditch, remember?" Hermione barely registered the low rumble of his voice, but the heat of his breath scorched against her oversensitive skin. She felt him shift between her legs and lean even closer. It was too much, the intensity of the sun melded with the friction built up inside her body, and he was still talking and teasing her; she had to do something! She pushed hard at his head and arched up, her spine curved like a bow with a taught string, and she wrapped both legs around his muscular shoulders to take control, regardless of who the hell might see them and where the hell they were.

 

She knew Ron had surrendered when he made a small, needy sound that rippled through every inch of her body. He dove back at her, his mouth frantic but skilled. His tongue plunged back into her heat, and now she could feel his fingers just there, tracing along the path his mouth had just burned.

 

Hermione licked at her parched lips again and gasped for a breath. She'd won; Ron was worshiping her with a ravenous greed that threatened to break her any second now. She owed him a finish to his little game.

 

"Professor Weasley, I…ahhh..I…know the answer!" She was on the border of intense gratification, like a sheet of glass near shattering from the force of someone leaning on it, but she concentrated through the spiraling pleasure to form words. It became even more difficult when Ron's fingers, strong and firm, joined his soft, wet tongue to work in tandem at bringing her to completion. "The Chasers," she finally blurted in a rush, barley getting the words past clenched teeth, "they feint… and one loops in the opposite direction, only t...to snatch the quaffle as it falls, so she can…YES!...slam it into the hoops be...before…there please, Ron!... before anyone realizes what's ha…happened, OH!" 

 

Ron's fingernails biting into her hip was the only warning she had before he sucked on her clit, drawing it into the warm envelope his mouth made as if claiming ownership over it, and there, that was what she'd been aching and craving like some wanton teenager. Hermione's eyes slammed shut again when she finally came in a blissful, raw wave of passion that had her moaning aloud and clenching around his fingers. She pushed her heels into his shoulder blades and thrust at his touch to prolong her climax. Her body felt like a bizarre mixture of tense steel and a pudding; she was shaking hard against his mouth, and the bench felt as tangible as smoke. Her entire world narrowed down to each gasping breath and the feel of his tongue as he drew lazy circles.

 

An unknown number of heartbeats passed before Hermione let her eyes flutter open. She felt rested, satiated, and she idly watched as Ron eased off her body. He pulled her dress back down awkwardly and finally sat on the bench positioned below hers. His expression reminded her of the time Crookshanks had snuck into her trunk to play with her knitting supplies back at Hogwarts.

 

"You seem rather pleased with yourself," she said in a quiet voice when she'd found the strength to sit up.

 

Ron gave her a lecherous smile. "I'm quite pleased, but very, very frustrated, if you know what I mean," he said, gesturing at how his erection strained at the buttons on his shorts. He pulled his shirt off and bunched it up to mop the sweat off his face and neck. Hermione wasn't about to object to a view of stomach muscles rippling under flushed, freckled skin. Before she could suggest exactly how she could tend to his "frustration" though, a voice dumped cold water over her naughty thoughts.

 

"Ron!" Harry called out from where he had just slowed his broomstick, "I know it's hot, but people are going to think you two are up to something if you've got no shirt on!" 

 

Ron's eyes widened. He gave one startled look at Hermione, but recovered quickly enough to scramble to his feet and hop down the remaining few benches to the edge of the stand box, strategically holding his shirt in front of him while attempting to look casual. "You're just jealous because a proper Quidditch team has to keep their entire kit on during practice while I'm just here to watch. 'S' bloody hot out here!" 

 

Hermione smiled inwardly as Ron and Harry gave themselves over to good-natured joshing. She was still hot and sticky, and her sundress definitely felt itchy and cumbersome now in the unforgiving heat. She watched as Ron shuffled his feet, torn between talking with their friend and taking care of his arousal. 

 

Hmmm… perhaps she had a few fantasies tucked away about sneaking into the locker room showers with Ron after the team was long gone…

**************


End file.
